Russ Rollins
Titan of talk
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Tune in and you may think a mad scientist's lab has exploded, strewing barbs and taunts everywhere. Mad as in crazy-smart. The man behind this radio romp? Russ Rollins.
By Nancy Imperiale
Sentinel Staff Writer
April 24, 2005
Russ Ray Rollins is respectful to his parents, neatly wraps his leftovers in foil, leaves no dust on his ceiling fans, and, some swear, even irons his underwear.
Growing up in Orlando, he dreamed of becoming a professional wrestler, or maybe a superhero. But then he found a career that let him be both.
He is a Monster.
Not just a Monster, but the Monster, leader of Monsters in the Morning, that irreverent, offensive and successful radio talk show airing 6 to 11 a.m. on 104.1 FM (WTKS) and XM satellite radio.
If you think they're called Monsters of the Midday, then wake up! The Monsters moved to mornings a year ago. Which means every weekday they have to rise at the time some of them used to retire.
Quite the challenge. But it has been a period of maturing for the Monsters.
They saw their coveted Arbitron ratings fall to fifth place among their target audience of men ages 25 to 54. And it has been a hard crawl back up the charts.
They managed to offend a good chunk of St. Petersburg last year, which got them yanked off the air and lectured on sensitivity.
They lost one Monster because he couldn't hack the early hours.
And the others? Let's say they've shed some scales.
Bubba "Whoop[bleep]" Wilson got his diabetes under control and stopped doing things such as storming off the air wearing one cowboy boot.
Sexy Savannah got sober and quit agreeing to such stunts as scraping up roadkill.
Dirty Jim still has a mouth like a meat cleaver, but these days he's a single suburban dad licking his wounds after a painful divorce.
Rollins bought a new house, new clothes and a Hummer, but he is still healing from an old lost love.
It remains for the younger, twenty-something Monsters -- Daniel and Black Bean -- plus paid "intern" Drunky the Bear, to carry the party torch.
"That's why," says Rollins, 40, "we bring in younger, stupider people."
Not your standard business plan.
But the Monsters never have followed the rules.
"What Russ has done with the Monsters down in Florida has been a nationally recognized success story," says Michael Harrison, publisher of Talkers trade magazine. For the fifth year in a row, the mag recently named Rollins one of the "Heavy Hundred" most powerful voices in talk radio, alongside the likes of Rush Limbaugh and Don Imus.
And with broadcasts spreading to cities such as Jacksonville, "Russ has been pioneering regional syndication," Harrison says. "And now it's on the verge of becoming a national show."
Some industry observers suggest that when Howard Stern moves to satellite radio next year, the Monsters are poised to assume his schlock-jock throne.
And to think your mother said you'd never amount to anything with that potty mouth.
The show is a romp through the stuff of any boys' locker-room, featuring the cussing, taunting, sexual innuendo, threats, bullying, yelling, boasting and leering that would get you canned from most other jobs.
The Monsters themselves landed in hot water last July when a St. Petersburg Times columnist tuned in to the show and heard terms derogatory to gays and people of color. He wrote a front-page article that spurred the St. Petersburg City Council and NAACP to complain to Clear Channel radio network, which pulled the Monsters off the air for a week. The Monsters say they were given a talk by Clear Channel officials. The entire show was later dropped from a Tampa station.
But those who accuse the Monsters of being racially and ethnically insensitive are being too kind and too narrow -- the show is purposely offensive to everyone. Whether you're fat, thin, redneck, intellectual, saint, sinner or something in between, rest assured the Monsters have said many things that might hurt your feelings.
They also attack one another, using their own foibles as fodder. They crack on one's therapy sessions or another's hair loss. Rollins has been ribbed about his dating disasters and struggles with weight, and the other Monsters delight in offending his delicate sensibilities with gross-out jokes.
Comedy can be cruel. Just ask George Carlin, Richard Pryor or Lenny Bruce.
The Monsters "say a lot of things people think but would be afraid to say," says fan Giselle Rodriguez, 26, a child-protective investigator from Winter Springs. "I'm glad they're on the radio. It helps me get through stressful days."
"I know when you listen to it, it may sound stupid," Rollins says of his show. "But we have to pay attention to a lot of things to do this show well. Everybody works hard here."
Gone, however, are the days when Rollins thought he had to save the world by lobbying for things such as chemical castration or sponsoring shoes-for-guns drives.
"I went through a phase where I thought we had a responsibility to stop child abuse, or save this and save that," he says.
That culminated in national controversy in 1996, when the show was blamed for inciting an inmate to bludgeon a convicted child abuser to death with a horseshoe stake. The killer claimed he did it for the show.
Rollins landed in Time magazine and on The Leeza Gibbons Show.
"We got all this attention because of that case," Rollins says. "But really, I don't think people want to listen to soapbox radio."
Still, a bit of do-gooder lurks under that So Cal shirt.
"Now I realize it's OK just to be good at what we do. That way we can help people forget about their problems."
Mr. Microphone
Russ was a good baby."Even as a small infant," says his mother Deloris, 64, "he would go out of his way to do things to please us."
"He was always a kid that was working to do good things, and he'd work very hard, almost like a little Clark Kent type of guy," says Robert Paul Jones, 57, who coached Rollins on the Lockhart Lancers wrestling team. "He's a good guy, but it's got a tough edge on it. He's a man!"
There were hints of his future career. Russ used to sneak a transistor under his pillow at night and listen to AM talk radio. He still talks about the thrill of job-shadowing a DJ at the old BJ-105.
And he loved his Mr. Microphone.
"I would walk into his room," says his mother, "and he would be singing up a storm."
But when Russ graduated from Edgewater High School, he went into the rental business, like his father. He and best buddy Bo Rhodes ran Rollins Party World on Edgewater Drive.
In 1993, a salesperson from what was then AM station WGTO walked in and started joking with the two friends. He told them they could have their own radio hour for $100 a week.
Party Talk with Russ & Bo was born."Bo and I were on from 6 to 7 in the morning, giving party advice and punch recipes. It was really horrible," recalls Rollins. "But it was fun."
So much fun that Party World began to pale to Party Talk.
"He was paying to be on the air, and he was there, on the air, more than he was at his business," remembers Russ' dad, Raymond Rollins. "Oh, I did not like it. No, I didn't."
Six months later, Real Radio talked Russ into paying for time over on the FM dial. The two pals did both shows, settling into the groove of what was now the Russ & Bo Show.
Dad Rollins was even more concerned after hearing the show.
"I just thought it was a little off-color, and I just didn't think he should do it. I said, 'You shouldn't talk about that stuff.' "
Replied the son: "Dad, you don't understand! That's what we're doing. We're saying things most people might think but don't say."
In the end his dad made peace, knowing "whatever Russ went after, there's no question he's going to do it and do it well."
Rollins soon displayed his now-renowned talent for marketing.
"I bought billboards and did promotions and acted like this was the biggest thing going. The very first promotion, for the Russ & Bo Show, I bought limousines and those sky-tracker things. At the time it made the people at Real Radio [ticked] off, because none of them had promos and T-shirts and stuff. . . . [Longtime show-host] Jim Philips was like: 'How come these bozos got billboards and we can't get 'em?!' "
When a fire destroyed the party store in 1996, Rollins lost thousands because he didn't have insurance.
It was "the best day of my life."
"At the time I was working at the store all day and doing a show at night. It [the fire] forced me to go into radio full time."
Then Bo was canned by Clear Channel management amid allegations of drinking and other excesses at events. A name change was in order.
"I wanted a brand. Like, my favorite band is Kiss. I wanted to be like that, a brand and a logo, and to look larger than life."
The Monsters of the Midday sprang to life.
Life in Monsterland
The Monsters' lair is nondescript. Other than a glowing fake palm in the corner, the room is blah, with cadaver-green walls and a mottled carpet that looks like stomach contents after a long night at Wally's Liquors.
The Monsters wear Princess Leia headphones and sit in black swivel chairs.
On the air it sounds as if they're all close enough to goose each other.
But in reality Daniel and Black Bean are behind a window at a control board, Dirty Jim is in his own windowed room, and Savannah, Bubba and Russ are seated at a conference table with built-in microphones.
Why do so many of the Monsters use assumed names?
"My personality's a bit caustic on the air, and I've got kids in public school," says Dirty Jim. "When you put your last name out there . . . "
There's no need to finish, not when the Monsters describe the few times they've been stalked or harassed.Rollins has been divorced twice and has two children -- Brittany, 16, and Ryan, 8.
Still, he is the rare Monster who uses his real name. Dirty Jim says that's not all he shares.
"I hate it for the guy, because he's a good man, but he sells his entire life on the air . . . It takes a lot of courage. I've seen Russ in some pretty bad positions."
Like a few years back, when he had a relationship with Savannah, and then they broke up. Although the two say they're now friends, Rollins remembers begging Savannah, on air, to take him back.
"God, when I hear it now I just want to kick myself in the head. I was telling her how much I loved her, and I'll do anything, and as I'm doing this stuff the rest of the guys are shakin' their heads like 'Oh, man, what an idiot.' "
Of course, it's hard to know what's real in Monsterland.
For example, it's not unusual for one to turn to the other and say something such as "OK, I'll get mad and yell, and then you'll fight me, sound good?"
When the red On Air light blinks, they all act like hungry cats at a food bowl, crowding each other for airtime with remarks and noises.
When the light goes off, they power down. Savannah checks her Sidekick. Bubba writes on a pad. Daniel strums a guitar. Dirty Jim tries to find a Johnny Cash song on his computer. Russ checks his e-mail. Black Bean answers the phone: "What's your name and why ya callin'?"
They can get 500 calls a show, many from the 2,327 core Monsters fans to whom the show has issued silver, numbered dog tags.
"They're called the Chronics, and it's what it sounds like. Their fans are absolutely rabid," says station program director Katherine Brown. "But it works. You find me another radio show, in any market, that can draw 6,000 people to an event like the Monsters can."
At events such as Friday's upcoming Hard Rock Live show, Chronics turn out in force to watch the Monsters play instruments in their band, singing original tunes such as "The Beer Song" and "Wendy's Booger."
"Monster fans are probably 70 percent men, all walks of life, mostly construction. They're just like me and you," says fan Glenn Donehoo, a 44-year-old electrical estimator from Deltona.He wears a ten-gallon hat, coated with glow-in-the-dark paint and plastered with autographed photos of the Monsters, a lighted sign and a spinning gizmo. He is standing in the "greenroom," a tiny cave with a couple of chairs, a refrigerator and a plastic bowl full of condiment packs. The room smells of Burger King breakfast sandwiches, brought in for several dozen fans who stopped by to watch the show live.
"You know, I was real lonely until I met the Monsters and started going to their concerts," Donehoo adds. "I started meeting a lot of friends."
Rollins has the Monsters on a whirlwind promotional schedule, appearing in their off-hours at Predators football games, restaurants or nightclubs. Fans meet at these events or online at isixradio.com/forum/index.php
Says Donehoo: "It's like a big family."
Nobody knows that better than Debra Tiller.
Her son Jake Mosley was for years a regular caller, trading barbs and even penning a song the Monsters recorded.
"It would give him a purpose to get up, knowing that he had the afternoon filled with that show," Tiller says. "He really just lived for it."
When the Monsters invited the young man to the studio, they discovered why Jake had so much listening time: He had muscular dystrophy.
Nine months ago, Jake died. He was 27.
"Russ was one of the last people to speak with Jake on the phone," Tiller says. "He told Russ how much he admired him and . . . not to ever forget him, and Russ assured him that he wouldn't.
"And Russ never has. Several people have called me to tell me that Russ was talking on the radio today about Jake or playing the song Jake wrote. He continues to honor the memory of my son."
Rollins says it's such stories that "help me realize our 'stupid' show does some good."
"As silly as it sounds, I'm not really about the money," says Rollins, who makes a six-figure salary. "I just want people to say 'You know what? That Russ Rollins, he left his mark on radio.' "
But don't worry. You can get that off with a little soap and water.
